by S. E. Hall
“I love you too, Dad. Now let’s go,” I hedge him, denied again.
“But, if you change your mind, I have the car out front running, ready to go.”
Oh, it feels good to throw my head back and gut laugh to the heavens. That line—classic. Undoubtedly going to be used on my own daughter when the time comes.
“Move it, Father Time. He’s gonna give up, and you’re certainly not getting any younger.” I wink at him, taking his arm, and the lead. “Don’t worry, Dad, I got this.”
“Here she comes! Cannon, I see her! You are very, very pretty, Sister!” Conner’s screaming, pogoing without a stick, the minute we come into view.
Cannon smirks but sweetly hushes him when our wedding song starts. Together, we’d chosen “And I Love Her” by…it’s my wedding, do I really need to point out it’s The Beatles?
While he’s calming Conner, I use the slice of time he’s distracted to absorb the man who is about to become my husband. He’s in pressed black slacks and a white dress shirt with the top button undone. His hair is tamed, sticking up just enough in the front, and his smile, the glow to his cheeks, the pride and excitement in his high, broad shoulders…he probably shouldn’t look better than the bride, or chocolate cake, but damn if he doesn’t.
When he moves, talks, sings, strums, touches, winks, smirks, laughs or drives his miraculous body lovingly into mine…everything he does mystifies me. And not only does he want me, but he wants me only, and forever.
“Dad,” I whisper, “pinch me.”
“No need, darling, it’s real. Can you imagine what he must be thinking right now? Probably trying to figure out which star was the perfect one he wished on, or how he got so in God’s favor. You’re the prize, beautiful Elizabeth, and he knows it.”
Our guests stand and face me, but I’m looking at one person only, and he now is doing the same. “Stole my breath,” he mouths and winks at me, stepping slightly forward when we reach him.
My father removes my hand from his arm, kisses the back of it, then offers it to Cannon. “I believe you to be worthy, son, so I give to you my only daughter, my baby. When you think you’ve shown her enough that you love her, cherished her, treated her like a queen,” he dips his head with an almost silent sniffle, then looks back up, “try harder.”
“Yes, sir.” Cannon nods, then turns us toward she who will unite us for life, my dear Alma.
She recites the traditional verbiage…then comes to our part. “You’ve prepared your own vows?”
We both nod and Cannon quirks his right brow, but I shake my head. “You first, babe.”
He slips a paper from his pocket (probably a list) and clears the lump in his throat. “You were born Elizabeth Hannah Carmichael, and I love her, but to me, you are Lizzie Little Bit Witchy Siren Blackwell, and you have been since the second you begged me to board your bus. You always shine, from the inside out, but you positively blind me. I vow with this, my last, and every breath in between, to adore you, appreciate you, and hold you up, let you lean, lean on you, carry you or shut my mouth and nod along—anything you need, anytime you need it. I will always put you above all else, especially myself, and if I don’t have what you need, I’ll find it, build it, invent it, just to see you smile. I love you, Lizzie.” He puts the note away and steps into me, cupping my cheeks. “You were instantly, are now and will always be, my prettiest instinct.”
“That was very, very nice, Cannon,” Conner says, the gallery all chuckling, my laugh accompanied by a subtle swipe of my tears.
“Elizabeth?” Alma indicates my turn.
Deep breath in for him, out for me, I begin, no piece of paper required. “Cannon…” Oh nice, one word and my voice cracks on a sob.
He smiles, taking both my hands in his to reassure me. “One more, baby, in for me,” he does it with me, nodding encouragingly, “now out for you.”
“Better.” I nod and start again. “Cannon, love is not patient; I couldn’t wait until you looked at me the way I did when I stole peeks at you. Love is not always kind; I can be moody, defensive, and snarky, but, thankfully, you have that selective hearing thing nailed.” He chuckles where only I can hear him and winks. “Love does envy; I’m jealous of every moment of your time I don’t get to share. Some nights I stay awake and watch you sleep, so peaceful and beautiful, and hate every creeping second of night until you wake, to light up my day. Love does boast.” I turn to the crowd and point to him. “This magnificent man is mine!” That gets a laugh out of everyone. “But the rest is pretty accurate. I will always protect and trust you, and give you only reasons to trust me. I will always hope for one more minute with you, one more kiss, one more embrace. And my love for you will never, ever fail. I instantly did, do now, and always will belong solely to you in mind, body, heart, and soul. Thank you for choosing me, Cannon, for never giving up, for seeing and unlocking what I never dreamt existed. I will spend my life thanking you. I love you.”
Male crying is not unattractive or unmanly; the love falling down Cannon’s cheeks is breathtaking. “Yours,” I mouth, reaching up to help wipe his tears.
“Yours was better, Bethy!” Conner boasts loudly and claps.
While everyone else laughs, even Cannon joining with a tiny snicker, I can’t help but frown. It wasn’t at all, and I don’t want my love doubting what his poetic vows meant to me. “It’s not true, babe. What you said was magical. It meant the world to me.”
“And you mean the world to me, but Lizzie love, there’s a reason you write the lyrics.” He pulls me into his chest and whispers, “need a nibble.” That tiny taste right below my ear turns into a dip of my body and a deep kiss that scorches me from toe to hair follicle.
“All right,” Alma improvises, “may I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Cannon and Elizabeth Blackwell!”
“Woo hoo! Quit kissing, now comes cake!” Any guesses who screeched that?
We come up for air all smiles and swollen, moist lips. Since our wedding’s at our home, I exercise my gloriously option. “I’m running up to change, babe, meet you back here in ten.”
“I’ll come with.” He starts to follow, abruptly halted by my firm hand on his chest.
“Not a chance.” My knowing brow calls him out. “I felt your plans on the dip, and we have a yard full of guests. You stay, think about gross things, and I’ll be back in ten.” I scamper away quickly, dress hoisted to un-trippable level, and dash to our bedroom to wear clothes made of anything other than what they used to make that itchy dress.
On my trip back, I’m stopped by each and every guest with hugs, kisses, well-wishes, envelopes of gifts—which I feel bad taking—and three especially long, heartfelt and teary talks with Bruce my Moose, Jarrett…and Rhett. I’m just promising him a dance later when the voice I’ve come to call solace speaks over the mic. It’s dusk by now, but the lanterns in the trees allow me to make him out perfectly, shirt unbuttoned one more and untucked, the sultry desire in his eyes clearly visible from here.
“My beautiful wife, it’s been more like forty minutes. Remember the whole ‘love is not patient’ part? Yeah, me, you, first dance now. I’ll meet you right there,” he points to the middle of the dance floor that’s been laid out, “and I picked the song. Ready, Siren?”
I eagerly bob my head at him across the dusky yard and make my way to where he’ll be waiting. “Dance with me, beautiful,” he croons, pulling me into him, one arm low around my back, the other grasping my hand and tucking it between our chests. He rests his forehead on mine, slowly swaying our bodies to “Hold You in My Arms” by Ray Montagne as he nips lightly and brushes his lips against mine. “Can you believe we’re here?” he asks. “Married, a home, family? Seems surreal.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” I agree with a sigh. “I couldn’t ask for anything more, wouldn’t change a thing about you and me. Sometimes I look at you and get scared, like how could he possibly want me? Do I really get to keep him forever?”
He swipes his thumb under my eye, c
atching a stray tear. “Sweet Lizzie, I have no idea who bewitches who.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Love you.” He glances around at all the guests, then pulls me tighter with a frustrated groan. “When do they all go home?”
Epilogue
Lizzie
2 years later
What? You thought you’d hear about two blissful years of Cannon and me honeymooning, having wild monkey sex four times a day, spending time alone, and enjoying getting to know each other even better?
When have Cannon and I ever had time alone? Think about it—we met, lived, and courted on a tour bus with four other guys, one a very impressionable, nosey busybody whom I adore. Then, we bought a house, with another house ten feet out the back door, occupied by…see reference to busybody above.
Alma’s always over, checking on Conner twice a day, and I’m pretty sure Vaughn and Bryson think they live here.
So much like before, Cannon and I have made a seductive, taboo game of finding time alone courtesy of subliminal body and eye signals and seemingly harmless sentences with underlying meaning in a language only we speak. We are fluent in innuendo.
Ergo, the joke we hear most often is usually some varied form of “when did you find time to get pregnant?”
I can tell them the minute it happened, not that I ever will, but it was at approximately 2:15 am last September 16th. No one was in the house but us, a mild thunderstorm woke me up, and I figured, what better birthday present for my husband??
We made our daughters on his birthday, to the rhythm of a warm, gentle storm outside our window, and today, June 7th, they turn one.
I’m working feverishly trying to ensure Yo Gabba Gabba covers every available space in the kitchen and back deck while the girls get their nap, so they’ll be party perky instead of gabba grumpy. Daddy’s run to pick up the cakes—something about they each get to explore and/or demolish their own—and I’m praying I’ll have enough time for a quick shower before the doting masses show up.
Or Conner.
Thinking he’s so sly.
“Hi, Sister!” Okay, even for Conner, usually at about a 15, he’s rocking every decibel of 25. “Where are my babies?” This time he leans toward the hall, where he screams it.
“Conner!” I aim narrowed eyes at him and point a raw hot dog his way, not set on the cooking platter yet. “Be quiet. The girls will be grumpy if they don’t have a nap, and I know you’re trying to wake them up!” I hiss quietly. “I mean it, mister!”
“Oh, did you hear that?” He cups his ear, wide-eyed. “I heard I think my babies.”
Did I mention Conner thinks his nieces are better than all the fish in all the world?
“No, Bubs, I didn’t hear—” I knew better than that! Turn my back for one second and he’s off! I quickly wash my hands, heading for their room, but I stop, listening over the monitor.
“Good morning, birthday Sophia,” he coos at her, and she makes soft, happy gurgle in response.
Did I mention the girls think their uncle is the best person in the whole wide world?
I mean, they love me, and are very partial to their Daddy, but Conner? You’d just have to see it to understand.
“Tell your mean Bethy mom you were already awake, okay, Sophia? You are a very, very cute baby, my baby. Your mom and dad got brown eyes, ‘cept yours are blue. That’s how I know you’re my baby. Sophia Conner Carmichael, queen of the wild babies.”
Her middle name is Anna, and obviously her last name is Blackwell…tomay-toe, tomato.
“Bethy mom said I can change your diaper, long as I do it on the floor, so come on.” She babbles at him as I listen. No thump, meaning he laid her down gently, tabs ripping open, raspberries on belly, one-year-old giggle, lid on wipes popping open…sounds good from here. He’s watched me a hundred times, wanting nothing more than to perfect taking care of them.
“Daddy’s home!” Cannon walks in precariously and I rush over to save one of the wobbling cakes.
I kiss him soundly. “Hey, you.”
“Girls still asleep?” He waggles his eyebrows.
“You tell me.” I lay a finger over my lips to shush him.
“That was a very good job, Sophia. Now, let’s go try not to wake up your sister,” Conner conspires over the monitor. “It would be very bad if we tickled her feet, Sophia, so we cannot do that. And we should not blow in her face or shake her bed.”
“Be right back.” He sets the cake on the counter and takes off down the hall. “Hey, Con, whatcha doin?” He chuckles. “Hello, sweet Sophia, come see your daddy, you big birthday girl.”
“Cannon, I want Stella to wake up right this minute.”
“Really? Huh, well, wake her up, Bubs, soft and quietly. Don’t startle her, okay?”
“Stella Conner Carmichael!” he yells, at about a 9. Oh, and her middle name is Elizabeth, not named after me, but rather Cannon’s mom- her full name. And since she’s Sophia’s twin…also a Blackwell.
Potay-toe, potato.
“Con, why don’t you help Soph into her pink party dress and I’ll get Stella up?” Cannon offers to save his daughter a startling wake up call, and I lean against the counter, listening to it all over the monitor with a smile you couldn’t beat off my face.
“No, Sophia wears the blue dress like mine and hers eyes. Stella gets pink because hers are brown like you guys.”
“My bad,” Cannon laughs, “you’re right. So Stella’s our baby then?”
“Psshh.” Conner’s abhorred. “Her chubby cheeks is mine and she always looks at the fish. She is mine too.”
“What’d you get them for their birthday?”
“I got Sophia a snail and Stella a toad. I found them both on my sidewalk.”
Oh dear God, tell me I’m hearing things.
“Cool! They can see them every time they come to your house, right?”
Adore my husband.
With the first knock on the door, I turn off the monitor, mentally say goodbye to my shower and go greet our guests with a smile. Of course Libby’s here first and that may be Marshall behind her, or the FAO Schwartz delivery man, completely buried. Walking right up behind them is my dad and family…are those Power Wheels Barbie jeeps?
They’re. One.
Everyone else arrives within minutes of each other. Bruce mans the grill, Jarrett tackles Vaughn and Bryson in the yard, and Hope sits enraptured as Sommerlyn braids her hair.
I search around for Rhett, I know I saw him come in, finally spotting him out back. Ahh, of course—he’s assembling a playhouse. I mean, they’re one after all.
And then, I hear them, a babbling chorus of “Ma” and baby claps and I turn to see my girls.
Stella Elizabeth and Sophia Anna Blackwell, my twin angels, one in pink, one in blue, one in Daddy’s arms and one in Uncle Conner’s, both the absolutely most perfect little people I’ve ever helped create.
“Ma!” Stella dives for me, the only chance I stand, since Sophia leans toward all the wonderful men in her life like glue.
“Happy Birthday, my beauty.” I kiss her cheek as I take her and sniff her head—which never gets old. “Are you one?” I hold up a finger and she mimics me. “Good girl! Yes, you are one!”
“I hear them!” Libby comes flying in the room, Laura standing to the side, politely waiting her turn. “Where’s Nana’s babies?”
“You gotta share, Nana!” Conner frowns at her.
As I watch them all showering love over my children, I simply smile, basking in all my little family is blessed with…so much more family, all of them fawning over the girls constantly. I feel those familiar, strong arms come around my waist from behind and I sigh, letting my head fall back on his shoulder. “Already one,” I say a little nasally, “can you believe it?”
“Love, I look around my life every day and never believe any of it. At the center of it all is you, my Siren. All of this, you gave me freely. I love you so damn much, Lizzie.”
“I love you too.” I peer back and up at him
and pucker.
“Oh yeah, Imma need a nibble.” He winks and takes it.
Acknowledgements
These are in no particular order…and until you’ve had to decide who goes where…oh, and made sure not to forget anyone while your stomach churns since you KNOW you’re going to do just that…don’t judge me. Xo
IF I forgot you- I’m sorry.
First and foremost, I thank God, for giving me the inner strength to keep going, my own mind to use as hard and well as I can and the beautiful people who surround me and bless me every day.
My husband Jeff- could NOT function, let alone write books, without you babe. In a few days, it will be 18 years, and they’ve been the best of my life. You were MADE for me, the only person I’d go through this crazy maze called life with and come out on the other side with only a few scratches.
My girls- thank you for being the independent, understanding, patient young ladies that you are! I’m so damn proud of every single one of you. Lyndsey- you go girl, proved em all wrong- you WILL persevere, grow stronger, do great things; and I cannot wait to watch you float across that stage like the princess you are! Brookie- just do you baby, find your way a lil more every day and keep that kind heart and warm smile! You’re a sweet baby girl! And Shelby Jo- well, you rock kid, kicking ass on every forum you grace!
Mom- I love you. I have you to thank for my “keep going til they kill ya” spirit and love of words (yes, I remember practicing for the spelling bees walking up and down U of A campus.) For my humor, that I think is funny at least…and for the way you adore my girls. Thanks Mom xo
